


On The Far Side

by S_Winter_Fitzgerald



Category: Drive (2011)
Genre: Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-18 23:39:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2366237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Winter_Fitzgerald/pseuds/S_Winter_Fitzgerald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened to Driver in the end? Who was he after all? What brought him to the life he was living? Vera may hold the answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nightcall

**Author's Note:**

> Driver, Irene, Benicio and the other characters you recognise from the film don’t belong to me obviously; I just took the liberty to shape some of their thoughts and some parts of their lives.
> 
> I’m aware that the ending I picture isn’t compliant with the existence of a book and film sequel but this was my impression when I finished watching the film and Nicolas Winding Refn reportedly shot a scene where it is made more clear.
> 
> The titles of the chapters are taken from songs of the soundrack of Drive.
> 
> This story was originally published on ff.net on 4 April 2012 and completed on 14 April 2012.

«These memories sustained him, but not so easily. Too often they reminded him of where he was when he last summoned them. They lay on the far side of a great divide in time, as significant as B.C. and A.D. Before prison, before the war, before the sight of a corpse became a banality.»

 Ian McEwan, Atonement

***

 _Maybe it isn’t too late yet to go to the hospital,_  he guessed, pressuring the wound on the right side of his abdomen, his hand covered in deep-red blood.

A stab wound would raise questions, obviously, and would very probably have to be reported to the police but he could always throw his wallet into a dumpster and say that he had been mugged.

He would keep on driving as nothing had happened. He was still capable of it. The reflection on the rear-view showed him a much paler version of himself, his hair seemed glued to his forehead and his hands were clammy, but he could continue reasonably well for a while more, time enough to take him to that secondary road that would very probably be empty by then. Everything would be well in the end.

He had really enjoyed those late night drives with Irene around town. A great part of them had been spent in silence, that kind of comfortable one that unites instead of diving because words simply aren’t needed but he still remembered her hand on his when it was resting on the gear handle. How simple and natural it felt, even despite everything they had left behind every time they walked out of the door.

He had also really enjoyed being at her apartment watching cartoons with Benicio or just staying there, watching mother and son play, well before everything started to get out of control to a point from which onward it couldn’t ever be right again.

He was missing both those things to a degree that lead him to covet the time they couldn’t have had before. This surprised him immensely but there wasn’t much he could do. It might not be too late to go to the hospital, but it was definitely too late to try to amend the situation.

Even though it had earned him the hardest slap he ever got in his life, he was strangely glad he had told Irene the truth about Standard’s death, that he had offered to take both her and Benicio and run away if she wanted to do so but he was even gladder for having told her goodbye although he hadn’t heard from her ever since.

Standard had died and not only there was anything that could change that as there was nothing he could have done to prevent it at the scene from happening either, but the burden was too heavy to let him go forward.

Besides, he couldn’t think only of Irene. Benicio liked him and he was fond of the kid too. He might be too little to know the full story but he would grow up and would ask questions about his father’s death eventually. How could they look at each other then? One wouldn’t be able out of shame and remorse and the other couldn’t out of disgust and rage. Despite what happened now, he was responsible for getting Standard killed. Irene would be left torn between them and he would never compete with motherly love. No, he couldn’t put both of them through any of that. His role in Standard’s death would always hang over them, menacingly.

The body count he had left behind was too high already to let him live in peace with his conscience and allow him to welcome any shot at happiness, even though he didn’t regret everything that he had done completely. His intentions had been the best.

When Standard came home, he acknowledged that he had probably lost Irene and Benicio forever, but he couldn’t let anything bad happen to them. That was why he had wanted to help him in the first place. The possibility that he was someone who had paid for his mistake and that was now trying to be a better man, father and husband had never been a big part of the equation. The impulse to protect them was much stronger than any selfish inclination he might had had. He had truly wanted to bring Standard home in one piece, give the money to whoever was demanding for it and get over with it all. He never wished for Cook, Blanche, Nino, Bernie and all the mess they brought along.

He wasn’t oblivious to the risks attached; that’s what you get from being in business with people like those but he had harboured some hope things could be solved at once.

Standard had been collateral damage and so had Blanche. He didn’t care particularly for her and yet he didn’t mean to get her killed but the two guys that had shot their way into the motel room had been taken down for pure survival reasons. It was either him or them. Live or die. The same reason prodding him to end up killing the guy who rode the elevator with him and Irene, ready to finish him or even both. He had probably lost her when she saw what he was capable of but he couldn’t let him walk around free, ready to accomplish his mission at any time. No. He didn’t regret that but he was even less remorseful about having killed Nino. He wanted to be the mafia big-shot but he was pathetic. Dangerous, it was true, but pathetic. There…Laughing and drinking while many lives had been ruined because of him and how many were being at that same exact moment. No. It was a drop in the ocean but it was one less of his kind walking the face of the Earth.

He barely recalls how he got home. How he was able to drive, when his hands were shaking so much, his legs were trembling and his breath was so fast he could hardly take any at all. In front of them, he kept this weakness at bay, but when that apparent ruthlessness disappeared, he was nothing more than a guy in the middle of something way over his head, a feeling always very heavy but that seemed that would smother him when he saw Shannon on the floor by a car. Blood coming from a wound on his forearm had soaked his clothes and he was very still but even though the rational part of the younger man told him that the other was dead, the emotional side prodded him to check his pulse. He had warned him to get out of town so much he had been mad at him. ‘You’re being overreacting, Kid; I’ll talk to Bernie and we’ll solve this’. Shannon hadn’t learnt his lesson at first and it ended up killing him.

From all those that had died, Shannon had been the one that had cost him the most. They weren’t exactly friends but they got along well and he owed him having accepted him no questions asked, indirectly allowing him to stay in LA. His had been the first workshop he had come across. He was only looking for a job as a mechanic; the rest came by chance – both the stunt work and the getaway driving arrangements. He signed up for both. He hadn’t much to lose and despite not being a man of big expenses, money always comes in handy. He was quite indifferent to the heists, just wanting those five minutes to end, preferably without any police involved but there were times when he almost liked doing the stunts, even though he didn’t watch the films afterwards and fame didn’t do much for him. The hoard of make-up artists and assistants of all kinds lurking from every corner didn’t either. He had gone out with a couple of them but that had been it. He wasn’t a man given to great passions or thrills whether from things or people.

Until Irene came along, that is, and he couldn’t quite know why. He had never dwelled much on its reasons but now that he was thinking of it, he guessed it had something to do with the balance between her fragility and her strength and her really tight sense of reality that despite it all still allowed her to wonder «what if».

He was less sure of things now and was finding concentration extremely difficult but the name «Bernie Rose» kept running around his head, stubbornly, tempting him to think about everything he was wanting to forget once again.

Bernie Rose. He of the smooth talk and the undercover menaces, the great plans and, in his own words, always the better option.

He wished he had taken another look at Irene’s face, had entered in a last blinking contest with Benicio, had been able to come home one last time.

In the end, Bernie had been right. Any dreams he had, any plans would have to be put on hold. But the girl would safe and he wouldn’t have to be looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life.

 ***

Irene had thought a lot about what to do next. Her decision was even harder because of her son and how Standard’s memory and feelings for him were so poignant. At the same time, she couldn’t pretend that knowing that he’d do whatever it took to protect them hadn’t mover her. It had been brutal, violent and cruel but it had been heartfelt and it wasn’t his fault that everything had gone so wrong.

She knocked on the door but got no answer. Her heart tightened. Maybe he hadn’t indeed come back from whatever he had to do.


	2. Oh My Love

 

The police department of Soda Springs, Idaho, only had 5 officers, who were more used to bar brawls, occasional marijuana busts and drunk drivers.

Tim Gordon was the officer who had taken that call, but he really wish he hadn’t. He knew the people involved too well, as it almost always happened in that town.

Doug McKay wouldn’t have wanted it either but he was more open to accept things as they were than his colleague, something life had thought him and that he was sure that Timmy would learn later on too.

They rode the car in silence, as they had been when they got the news, put their hats on and headed out.

« I still can’t believe it»,  Tim said before letting his colleague knock on the white front door of the one storey house with a well-kept lawn and canopies over the windows.

«If you can’t take it, imagine them.»

He knocked in that mild and yet firm manner he had unconsciously saved for these situations.

The women that opened the door was in her late 50s, had her blonde hair hold by a banana clip and had blue eyes. She had been very pretty when she was younger and age had been kind to her. The practical clothes she was wearing were different from the twin-set/skirt combo they used to see her in.

She was smiling but her gaze hardened when she saw them.

«Vera.  How are you?»

She remained silent, something completely opposite from the friendly way she devoted to the costumers and even the employees of the diner she owned.

«May we come in?», he asked. Doug was sure Tim wouldn’t say a word. He should have told him to stay at the station, because he doubted he would be of any help.

She swallowed dryly and made room for them to enter, closing the door after the officers, who had taken their hats off meanwhile - Doug had to elbow Tim for him to do it. The woman led them to the living room, through halls with photographs of happy times on the walls, the smiling faces overlooking them from their wooden frames.

«Sit down…There’s no need for you to stand up…Would you like some coffee?», her voice was so low they could barely hear her. Vera’s thoughts were running fast through her mind, every scenario more catastrophic than the one her brain had come up just a couple of seconds before.

«There’s no need, Vera.»

Silence took over the room, as she sat down.

«I’m afraid we have bad news.»

Tim looked like he was being swallowed by the deep green couch and Vera tightened her grip around the trim of the armchair she was sat on.

«It’s about Michael…he died.

» I’m so sorry.»

It seemed like Vera had been struck by lightning. Her body was shaken from the top of her head to her feet and a primal scream left her mouth but after this first reaction she didn’t do or say a thing.

The younger officer had finally broken down and had tears rolling down his face, despite his efforts to wipe them away with his fingers.

Doug stood still, his eyes glued to the floor. There wasn’t much he could do.

«How?» Vera said eventually.

«In a car accident …», Doug  wasn’t sure if he should tell her the entire story , « … he was also stabbed in the abdomen… nobody knows how he got it yet» – she would know eventually.

She took the hardest breath she had ever taken in her entire life.

Her Michael.

How could he be dead?

And what had he been up to that had gotten him stabbed?

She loved Johnny, of course, but Michael was her darling little boy.

He was her darling little boy even though he was 27 years old.

Her older son was all loud and brash ways like his father as were his dark hair and eyes while Michael had inherited her quiet manner, her thoughtfulness and the need of his own space like he had gotten her blonde hair and the blue eyes.

«When will you return, dear?», she had asked him during Thanksgiving dinner, the last time he had come home.

«I don’t know, Mom. I’m okay, don’t worry.», her son had assured her, with a hand on her shoulder.

Michael hadn’t left home because he had big dreams of stardom. He had no big dreams, period.  He hadn’t left home to escape abuse or a shady reputation either. He just wanted to leave. And so he left, taking with him a suitcase, the unique way with cars he had and the 1973 Chevy Malibu he had restored during high school.

«Why don’t you want to go to college? We have some money saved for it. It’s not enough to send you to Harvard but I’ve done some research and I’ve found out the Boise State engineering program is very good. You don’t need to work with you father after it, Michael.  Don’t mind what he says… he already has your brother, it’s enough.»

«I really don’t want it, Mom. I’m sorry, if I’m disappointing you. I truly am. See you soon», he said kissing her on the cheek before entering his car and driving off.

She didn’t want him to go to college, if he didn’t want to. No. No matter how much she would have loved telling her costumers and friends that he was her engineer son and go on about the great things he would do, she put her sons’ happiness over anything else.

Michael had called her from Odgen, ID,  Salt Lake City,  St. George and Las Vegas before calling her from Los Angeles. She had even visited him once and it had been interesting but she’d rather live in Idaho. She needed the quiet piece of her city, the familiar memories and faces around the corner.

«Has any girl caught your eye yet?», she asked him often. He had always said «no, not really» until that Thanksgiving.

Michael had kept mum but his earnest smile spoke louder than anything he could have said.

«What’s her name?»

«Oh, no. I’m not going down that road.»

She knew he would eventually but even if he wouldn’t, she had never seen that look on his eyes.

«Irene», he muttered under his breath.

«What?» - Almost an hour had passed after her question and she was caught so off guard she had to put her fork down and stop eating her pie.

«Where did you meet her?»

«At my building.»

«Is she your girlfriend?»

«Stop it, Mom. She’s a friend.»

«Oh, I see. That’s why you started talking about her…»

He had never mentioned her again during any of his rare phone calls but Vera wondered about what had become of her. She would have liked to meet her very much. It was a very motherly thing to say but she was certain this girl would have to be special somehow or she wouldn’t have caught Michael’s eye otherwise.

«I’m so sorry, Mrs. Smith. So sorry.», Tim managed to say at last. «He was one of the best people I’ve ever met and I’ll never forget what we went through… good or bad. We drifted apart after high school, but I ran into him during Thanksgiving  and it seemed like the city hadn’t changed him much. I’m so sorry, Mrs. Smith. I know it’s not much and I can’t even imagine what you’re going through, but I’m really sorry.»

Vera took his hand between hers.

«It’s okay, Tim.»

«Is John at the garage?» , as Tim had gone to school with Michael, Doug had been his parents’ colleague.

«Yes… He is and so is Johnny, I guess.», she paused for a moment, «Oh, God. How can I tell him? He hasn’t been well. His heart…»

«We will help you, don’t worry.», Doug tried to assure her, «Do you want me to call him?»

«No. I’ll do it….», Vera cleaned her eyes with her hands and went to fetch the phone from the hall.

«John?», they heard her say. It was something too personal to be said with an audience, so both of the officers stayed in the living room,  «John… I need you to come home.»

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d like to point out I’ve never been to Soda Springs, ID nor am I familiar with police protocol apart from what I see in films, so I must ask you to forgive any inaccuracies.


	3. Chapter 3 - A Real Hero

The knock on the door startled Irene. She had fallen asleep on the couch and the sudden noise almost made her jump out of her skin. She looked at her watch as she rubbed the sleep off her eyes. 3.25pm. She and Benicio had had lunch, she had cleaned up the kitchen and then she had sat a bit on the couch watching some tv but she hadn’t been sleeping well and ended napping. Her son wasn’t there but hearing the flush told her that he was in the bathroom. She was surprised because she wasn’t expecting any visitors and it was still too soon for Wendy to come stay with Benicio. Or… but as fast as the wish appeared it also went away. It couldn’t be. Almost a week had gone by without any news. Irene shook her head as if she was trying to shake the idea away too and got up.

She opened the door.

«May I help you?», Irene said to the unknown blonde woman in front of her, dressed in black skirt and grey twin-set, with a pearl necklace around her neck and with her hair tied in a ponytail.

«uh… Irene?», she asked hesitantly.

«Yes…»

The older woman found her young and very pretty even if the tiredness had drawn black half-moons under her eyes.

«… I’m Vera Smith…You don’t know me, but you met my son… Michael.»

That made no sense to her. Michael?

But…

Michael. She had never asked him his name and he had never told it to her spontaneously but of course he had to have one. Irene had met him once by the mailboxes and had caught a glimpse of the receiver field of a letter he was holding. «Micha» was what she was able to see, the rest hidden behind his thumb. She never called him by his name. When she wanted to catch his attention she’d say ‘hey’, ‘listen’ or ‘look’, as Benicio did, or she’d just say nothing, simply waiting for him to look at her. Even when they were by themselves, she never said his name. She wasn’t even sure that was his name. But there was nothing left to doubt about now. His name was Michael Smith. His name had been Michael Smith, the clothes his mother was wearing and the look upon her face told. When her brain drew that conclusion the breath she was taking got stuck.

«Are you alright?»

She finished it and nodded.

«Come in.»

Her son was already sitting at the living room, playing with his toys.

«Benicio, go play inside while I talk to this nice lady, okay?», Irene asked with a weak smile.

Another child might have attempted to protest but he had always been very observant and he could see that his mother was upset. He picked his toys up and did as he was being told.

Irene closed the door behind Vera and pointed to the couch.

So the girl had a son. Vera could imagine Michael playing with him. He had always been very good with children. When there were weddings or birthdays or another kind of get-togethers she could always find him if she followed the kids since a very young age. They wouldn’t be climbing him and holding on to his back but he would come up with simple games that would keep them interested and entertained for hours like blinking challenges or trying to find out who would be able to not laugh for the longest. «You’ll be so good with yours», she had told him many times as he played with his nephew and his niece. But there wouldn’t be any children of his. Ever. She swallowed dryly. Sometimes the possibilities forever postponed were harder to take than his absence.

«Sit down, please. Can I get you something? Coffee, tea, water?»

«Coffee is fine, thank you.», Vera answered, still with a weak voice. She wasn’t very eager to have it but all those years at the diner had taught her the important role of a cup of coffee to break the ice or feed the dynamic of the conversation, whether it is something trivial or deep and life-changing.

Irene went to the kitchen and tried to prepare it. Her hands were trembling so much she spilled some water and couldn’t help avoid hitting with the kettle in the counter.

Vera didn’t say a word either. Silence was overwhelming but both knew that their conversation couldn’t happen from one room to the other. Talking normally would be difficult, painful even, but yelling from one end to the other wasn’t an option.

Irene brought a tray and put it on the centre table. She signaled for Vera to pick a cup and then picked the other for herself. She had a knot in her throat that made it very difficult to wish for anything to drink but she was glad for having the cup between her hands, it gave them something to do.

Vera took a deep breath and a sip of her coffee before speaking.

«Something tells me that you already know what has happened.»

Irene nodded. She barely could think of it; putting it in words was impossible, at least for that moment. She felt tears starting to form but she couldn’t let them out. Not so soon, especially when the woman in front of her had lost her son. She couldn’t even imagine what she’d do if something happened to Benicio. She was very pragmatic but found herself knocking on the wood of the structure of the couch surreptiously. 

«I came to Los Angeles to recognize him, put things in order and take him home. »

Every single word came out as slowly, violently and painfully as if they were stabbing her.

«But I couldn’t go back to Idaho without meeting you. No… I couldn’t. My husband and my older son don’t understand why I insist upon this so much but Michael spoke so highly of you. I mean, he didn’t say much, he never said much, but from what he said I knew you were special to him… Very special. He didn’t say much but there was this look in his eyes…» a wistful smile flashed from her face, «very frank and earnest that just couldn’t lie.»

 «I really wish we would have met under so much better circumstances» , it was something stupid to say but Irene was trying to process the words of her guest. A couple of months had passed but she hadn’t been able yet to understand the complex place he had had in her life, how she regarded him and even thought she loved him but also how she loved Standard and was really happy he had come home - how she would have given the world to have him safe and sound at home, even if it meant never seeing Michael (naming him was so strange to her), never seeing Michael again but knowing that we was alright as well and now he was gone. 

«Me too, me too.»

«How…did he…», she couldn’t bring herself to say it but she would have to eventually.

Vera saw how difficult it was and didn’t leave her finish her question.

«He had a car accident but it was result of a stab wound. He didn’t get help and he entered in shock, what made him incapable of driving, of doing anything, in fact.»

It had to have something with Standard’s death and everything that happened afterwards, the guy stalking them, those things too dangerous for him to tell her about but that she could sense nevertheless. Result of everything that had happened because he wanted to protect her and Benicio, in the first place.

«He was the kindest and most selfless person I’ve ever met», she had jumped around this idea for a while so it came naturally out of her mouth, « When my husband came home from jail…»

Vera was the one taken aback now. It had been surprising enough to find out that the girl had a son, even though single mothers weren’t that rare, but finding out that Michael had fallen for a married woman, and who was married to a man in jail floored her.

Irene saw the look on her face and stopped for a while.

«It’s a very complicated story… That I will only tell if you want to hear it, and if I’m sure that it won’t change the image you have of your son», her voice was almost a murmur by now, though she knew that there was too much already said to leave the other woman indifferent.

«No», she declared, «I want to know it. Mothers don’t know everything about their children, no matter how much they want to pretend they do.»

«When we met, he didn’t know that I was married. I had told him that Benicio’s father was in jail but I hadn’t told him that we were still together until the lawyer called to say that Standard was coming home in a week, sometime after», Irene wanted to clarify that, she wanted to make sure that Vera knew that she had been the one keeping a secret and that Michael hadn’t forgotten the education she was sure his mother had given him, « My car broke, he helped me and things went on from there. I was feeling lonely, I guess, he and Benicio got along very well… and I never put an end to it. Everything felt so natural. We barely talked even when we were alone and it never went beyond something platonic. », as awkward as it might be, that was another point she felt mandatory to mark.

Vera looked at her, assured. Irene didn’t judge her. She knew how these things were; she wouldn’t be the first to point out a flaw in her son either, and took it as a sign to carry on.

«Things were going well. When I was told that Standard was coming home we found ourselves a bit lost, I think, even though we both knew that I wasn’t going to leave my husband and start things over together. I still loved him, in the end… We drifted apart for that week but we met eventually. We were neighbors, after all, and Benicio had talked a lot about him to his father.

»Now that I look back, I come to think that I don’t know if Standard picked up that there was more to us than just being friendly neighbors or was just pretending he didn’t…», Irene stopped. Even though she had been struggling with it for a while, the realization of her guilt had never been so strong and overwhelming. It was an old debate, but in that moment she felt that she had betrayed Standard more than if she had ever slept with Michael.

» I didn’t shy away from meeting him. As weird and wrong as it may seem, I liked it, and craved for it. It reminded me of a simpler time, even considering everything. And I could see that he liked it too. Our situation had changed but we hadn’t.»

Irene took a sip of her coffee as if to gain balance to keep talking. She was about to reach the point from which onwards the life of them all had changed.

«One day, I came home from work and Standard was hurt and bloody. Back then, I didn’t know the truth… He told me that some drunken kids had beaten him but it wasn’t like that, I know now. A couple of days later,  the police was at my door, telling me that he had been shot at a pawn shop that it seemed that he had tried to rob. », she stopped holding back the tears and had some streaming down her face now. Irene put the cup of coffee down and tried to wipe them off with her fingers, resting her hands on her lap afterwards.

Vera put a hand on her forearm. The day Tim and Doug had knocked at her door to give her the news had been the worst of her life and Michael hadn’t done anything like that, at least as far as she knew, even though she had learnt that afternoon that her son had some very recent scars on his right arm and the story Irene was telling her lead her to start acknowledging that there was indeed a lot to her sons’ life she couldn’t have even fathomed before. She had stopped trying imagining what was to be in another people’s shoes in any given situation since, but she was sure about how difficult it had been to the girl and to her son.

«Michael came to see me later that night…», Irene was crying again but she didn’t made an effort to hide it anymore, «…He wanted to tell me the truth. There was this man who was demanding for some money from Standard, for protection in prison or something like that, and that he would hurt me and Benicio if he didn’t pay. He told me that Standard had asked him for his help but that everything had went wrong. He apologized and said that he still had the money. It was mine for the taking if I wanted. I didn’t. I couldn’t. Ever.  I slapped him. As hard I could. I was really angry at him. The father of my son had died, and he was there… in front me, alive and well, given the circumstances. He kept talking as if it didn’t happen but I could see that he was very embarrassed, upset and tired. I could take the money and Benicio and leave. He would come with me if I wanted him to, he could look out for me. I couldn’t say a thing. It was all so fresh and raw. I had lost so much that day and yet it seemed like I was being given another shot, all at once. »

Vera was crying now too. This was the Michael she knew.  She still had her right hand on Irene’s forearm but used her left hand to open her purse and fetch a handkerchief from it. The young woman nodded and Vera used both her hands to wipe her eyes, after offering a handkerchief to Irene.

«I knew it was bad, that the situation hadn’t been completely solved because right after, there was this guy at the elevator…I didn’t notice it right away but, Michael got really tense and he pushed me to get behind him. I wasn’t getting what was happening but I didn’t do a thing and moved. They started fighting after and I stood there… There was nothing I could do. I was terrified. For me, for him, for Benicio… As soon as the elevator stopped I…I got out. I had never seen him like that. It frightened me but it also showed me how much he cared and how far he’d go to protect me and my son.» Irene stopped once again. She wasn’t going to tell this woman that her son had very probably beaten a man to death. No, she had lost enough already.

»He called me but I couldn’t say a thing… He wanted to apologize but I couldn’t say a word… I was still shocked and overwhelmed by everything that had happened that day. Michael said that he had to do something he wasn’t sure he’d be back from… I think a part of me knew what had happened because I went to knock on his door that day but nobody answered…he hadn’t looked for me ever since. I don’t believe in these kind of things but I think I knew.»

Vera kept to herself that she did believe before. She used to but she hadn’t felt anything different suddenly, no shivers even though there wasn’t a single breeze, no heart racing out of her chest, no sudden dizziness.  Nothing. The coroner had estimated that Michael had died from 5 to 7 pm, while she had been supervising dinner, eating, telling Marie off because she wasn’t washing the dishes properly, calling John to remind him that his dinner was in the fridge behind the milk carton, storing two chocolate bars in her purse for her grandchildren.  When the news hit her, she thought that maybe she hadn’t been a good mother, that she didn’t love her sons enough to get to feel that connection a lot of other mothers she knew had always told they felt. But as it all sunk in she stopped and she realized that one thing didn’t have to do with another. How could she know? Her sons and she were beings independent from each other. The only way they would know what the others were doing and where at a precise moment was if they were looking at each other, because they could be lying if they said it over the phone.

«I’m so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Smith. Everything I can say is so shallow compared to what you have been through but I’m really very sorry. And I’m also sorry and even embarrassed for talking for so long. I don’t know what took over me… I hadn’t talked about any of this to anyone yet.»

Vera took Irene’s hands between hers.

«Don’t worry about it, dear », she smiled honestly, « it’s good for you to let it all out and you have helped me too. I won’t deny that I’ve heard things I wish my son hadn’t done but you have also told me that despite it all he hadn’t changed that much,» there were tears running down Vera’s face now, «he was still the caring, available, helpful Michael I’ve always known. He was very quiet but he left a mark on your and your son’s life nevertheless. That’s what he always did. He won’t be the first name that comes up if you ask any of the teachers he had about their students but sooner or later it will, and they’ll say something like “Michael Smith… he was a good kid», Vera took a deep breath a got herself together.

» There’s no good in dwelling in what could have been. We can’t change anything and we better seize what he left us and remember him fondly and with a smile on our faces… Michael couldn’t bear to see me sad. There are these days when we are just upset, you know, we can’t point out why but we just don’t feel well. He’d come near me and tell me jokes he had learnt at school, those that he could tell his mother, ask me if I wanted some tea or a chocolate bar. Something. He’d sit by me, looking at me and making faces and trying to make me smile and I did eventually. That’s why even though it hurts, I can’t sit and cry my eyes out… I can’t. I cry, of course I cry, but before it takes over me completely, I think that I can’t go on. Michael is somewhere, trying to make me smile, I’m sure of it. So ask me whatever you want, my dear. Anything ».

«How was him? I mean when he was a child, a teenager…Tell me a story, if it’s okay …»

«Nice. I know that it’s something very generic to say and that I’m his mother but he was nice. He never threw tantrums, no, and it wasn’t because he had been told off after having thrown one. I could take him with me to the grocers’, the DMV or wherever I needed to. He’d stay by me, playing with the toy he had brought along, talking to me or playing ‘wait games’ as he called them… blinking, trying to keep serious, things like that. »

«He used to play things like that with Benicio too.»

«Almost every Michael I know back home is Mike, Mick, Mickey or has some nickname inherited from their father or even grandfather… but not Michael. We tried calling her Mike but for some reason it didn’t fit well. He had this somberness even when he was a child that prevented any of those nicknames from sticking, which is strange because he was very amiable and caring.

»Once, I went to pick Johnny from school and Michael went with me… Johnny was 12 or 13 and Michael 10 or 11… I can’t remember well… Johnny had gotten into a fight that day and when we were about to leave the other kid came to Johnny and said «I won’t forget this, you’ll pay for it…», I’m pretty sure he picked it up from a movie and thought that would be cool to leave the menace hanging. Johnny was about to run after him and pound him to the ground, but Michael held his arm before I could do a thing and said to the other «We’re two and you’re only one. If I were you, I’d pay more attention to the people you threat». Johnny was embarrassed to death… what had gotten over his little brother to get in his business? Now the other guy wouldn’t leave him. Michael had talked in a very calm way that was slightly scary, to be honest, and kept looking at the other kid as he walked away but as soon as he disappeared from sight he just walked very fast towards me and kind of hid behind me. I told him « what? Has the strength abandoned you? ». «No… Do you think I’m crazy? He was much taller than me.»

Irene laughed heartly for the first time of the afternoon but still had to wipe some tears off her face.

«He was like that:  cautious but brave at the same time.

«And as a teenager?»

«As a teenager he was an okay student, was good at math and PE, a bit lazy when it came to the rest. He made it to the football team. He wasn’t the best player but his calmness, sturdiness and his skill were much appreciated…He wasn’t much of a trouble maker even though my husband had to pick him up from the police station once. He was about 17 and he was drunk.

»This is how it works in small towns… There’s a father that keeps a fridge in the garage and the kids drink from there whether they know and allow it or not. I had an idea that it had to do with a girl but he only confirmed it recently… he had told us back then that football practice had gone really wrong  and he was feeling like the worst and to cheer him up, his best friend had invited him over to drink from his father’s stash… He kept saying ‘she, she, she’ and crying ‘Holly’, that happened to be the name of a girl he was rumored to be seeing. Generally, nobody cared about what he did or didn’t do but it changed when he got in the football team. He was tutoring her in Math and she was tutoring him in History. Tim, his best friend, told me the football story but I didn’t buy it. He would be considered weak or something if it were known that he was like that over a girl, I guess…», Vera interrupted her speech to clean her eyes again, «Poor Tim. He’s a police officer now, back in Idaho. He was the one to take the call, you know, about Michael. Even though they had been good friends in high school they drifted apart. It happens when people still live in the same town, let alone when they don’t.»

Irene found it difficult to believe in a drunken Michael, a jock Michael, but the thought made her smile. It was nice to know a different side other than the very controlled and pulled together Michael she had known.

«I have some pictures here if you want to see them…»

«Definitely», Irene had always mocked people for carrying a bunch of pictures with them but she did the same since she had had Benicio.

Vera retrieved a brown leather wallet from her purse, opened it, took two pictures from a transparent compartment and put it on her lap.

The first she showed Irene had fold marks in the corners. It had been stored in that wallet for about 10 years or so.

«That’s Michael, over there», Vera said pointing at a boy about 9 years old with his hair parted  on the left and a huge smile on his face, sitting on the floor by a boy older than him that she was quite sure was his brother, in front of his parents who were sat on a dark red  couch. He had grown obviously but the features Irene had known were very recognizable. 

«He didn’t change much.»

«It’s true.», Vera’s chin started to tremble.

«You haven’t either.», Irene was trying to cheer her up but it was a fact.

«Apart from all the wrinkles…», she still had tears gleaming over her lower lashes but she was smiling now.

«I hope mine will look as good as yours.»

«Thank you, dear. My self-esteem really appreciates it.», she said as she put the other picture over the one they had just seen.

This was a very recent one, she was sure. No fold marks in sight, Michael and Vera looking exactly like how she had known them.

«It was taken at Thanksgiving, when Michael came home for the last time…»

He was standing behind the couch – now green -, smiling the contained smile she had always known, very befitting to his character.

«That’s my Michael, obviously, my son Johnny, my daughter-in-law Laura, my grandchildren Olivia and Jack and me and my husband.»

Irene didn’t hear a word, her gaze stuck to Michael’s face. He had been very handsome but the conjugation of his good-looks and her loneliness hadn’t been the only reason Irene had felt drawn to him. The frankness and, as weird as it may seem, the innocence he gave off had. He had been one of those people that had the ability to calm even without saying a single word. And now it was all gone. A shiver took over her.

«Are you alright?»

«No, not really.», she couldn’t lie to the woman in front of her anymore.

Vera took the hands of the young woman between hers once again.

«I’ve told you about how he was as a kid and as a teenager. Tell me now about how he was when he was here.»

Irene told her about the time Michael had taken both her and Benicio to the LA River, the trips to the Zoo, the visits to the Griffiths Observatory, the walks in the park, the drives around town, the nights he would come over and watch TV with them. She found herself smiling and crying at the same time as she remembered it all.

«Could you take me to the LA River? I can’t take Michael back home completely. He had wanted to leave. He found a new place for him in this city somewhat and from the way you spoke, I gather that he liked it very much and you had a very special time there… I think he’d like to have a part of his ashes lifted by the wind and then resting in Idaho too wouldn’t probably seem to bad…»

«Of course. I’ll take you there.»

«You can come, obviously.»

»Do you know of any friends? Of Michael?»

«No. Sadly, I don’t… but I met his boss once. I can give you the address of the garage if you want.»

«Thank you, dear.»

Benicio’s head peaked from the door.   Irene looked at him and urged him to come meet her.

«Benicio, I’d like to introduce you to this nice lady. Her name is Vera. She knew our friend from next door too.»

«Nice to meet you», he said, reaching out his hand like his mother had told him.

«Nice to meet you too, Benicio», Vera said accepting it, « he told me very good things about you… that you’re a very smart boy that only didn’t win the blinking game the first time you’ve played… From that moment on he didn’t stand a chance, right?»

Benicio looked at her curiously and silently, nodding with his head timidly in the end.

«Now go play a little while more, okay? I’ll fix you something to eat in a bit alright, little monkey? Come here.», Irene held her son and kissed him on the top of his head. Once the child was free from his mother’s arms he ran to the room he had came from.

«How am I supposed to tell him? Isn’t enough that he has lost his father?»

«You’ll find that children can be very resilient. He’ll be sad, of course, but he’ll recover.»

«Thank you, Mrs. Smith»

«Vera, I think you can call me Vera at this point.»

«Thank you, M..Vera…Thank you for everything. I’m so sorry Michael got caught up in all of this. I know that my regrets can’t bring him back but I wish they could. I truly do. »

«We have to accept it and move on. It’s the best we can do.»

Irene nodded.

«I hope you come to Idaho some day. I’d really like to have you there and show the places where Michael grew up around…I think Benicio will like it too, with the mountains and all.»

«Thank you for the invitation.»

«You can call me whenever you want or feel like you need to talk, okay?»

Vera paused for a second.

«I’m sorry if I’m intruding. But I really liked to meet you and it has helped me a lot. »

«It has helped me to, Vera. I’m really glad we had this chance.»

A knock on the door put their conversation on hold. Irene looked at the watch.

«It’s probably Wendy, the sitter. My shift will begin in  an hour and I still have to get there».

«I won’t take more of your time then. Can we talk tomorrow, about going to the river?»

«I’ll call you.», Irene took the card Vera was giving her.

«It has my numbers in Idaho but I’ve written the number of the hotel we’re staying on the back.»

«I’ll know my work plan and I’ll call you then.»

«Thank you»

Vera hugged Irene sincerely. It caught the younger woman a bit off-guard but she didn’t resist it. This conversation had really been very important to her for two reasons: knowing what had indeed happened to Michael and giving her a broader sense of who he had been.

For Vera it was helpful to know that his son hadn’t been completely alone in this big city, she wanted to believe that despite it all he had been truly happy for at least once. It wouldn’t bring him back obviously but it was a consolation.

Irene opened the door.

«Hello, Wendy!»

«Hi!», the other woman said as she entered and made her way to the living room.

They bade each other goodbye but Irene stood by until Vera got in the elevator and waved as the doors closed.

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of this story. I hope you enjoyed it.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this story. Comments/reviews will be appreciated even if this was written a long time ago.


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